


I heard it on the radio (I’m gonna be someone)

by Ofwordsandroses



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: College AU, Hurt/Comfort, Roman-centric, brief mentions of Deceit, brief mentions of Remus, but British, i blame the playlist, mild bad language, our boy just wants to chase his dreams guys, so maybe highschool au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:09:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23655880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ofwordsandroses/pseuds/Ofwordsandroses
Summary: Everyone around him is making decisions about their futures, Roman would like to do that without the accompanying existential crisis, thanks
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders
Comments: 4
Kudos: 17





	I heard it on the radio (I’m gonna be someone)

**Author's Note:**

> just a smol one-shot after listening to the playlist, sometimes inspiration hits and you have no choice, I’d like to thank ace_corvid for editing, they’re an angel and you should all read their work okay (I’m done now)

Roman was slumped across three of the chairs in the theatre, resting his head in his arms as he took in the dismantled set on the stage. Albeit, describing what was before him as a ‘stage’ was being generous. The room he was in was actually the college lecture theatre, where the acting principle would deliver an assembly once a month, and in the time it wasn’t used to entrap students in an hour long lecture on not doing drugs, it belonged to the drama students. It was used for rehearsals, and exams, and the college productions or like now; when a student was in a free period and needed a place to mope. 

Roman let out a long suffering sigh as he turned to look at the dismantled scaffolding. The college had just finished a production of Chicago, and the scaffolding was really the only thing they could afford with their budget. Their college was underfunded yes, but Roman knew it was the arts that got hit the worst; he had visited Logan enough times in the brand new science building to know. The theatre, as well as the drama and music classrooms were on the ground floor or as everyone else called it, the basement. Roman had gladly started the trend of referring to it as the morgue after he had found out that their college had at one point been a hospital, and that their drama room, at one point, used to stored bodies. Alongside the fact they were shoved into the basement (morgue), the lack of equipment made it painfully clear that the subject was just not cared about. 

This usually irked roman but for now he was glad for it, as it was less likely anyone would find him when he was hidden in the theatre. Roman didn’t usually consider himself a loner, he knew he tended to mope rather dramatically but he usually bounced back with equal enthusiasm ten minutes later. However life had a funny way of taking everything you thought you knew and everything you was sure you loved, and destroying it. 

The Fuckening (which was what Roman privately referred the series of events that had led to this moment, in which he was trying not to cry in a creaky chair) had begun weeks ago at careers day. One of the most stress inducing days in any teen’s life. The sports hall had been filled with stalls, universities, prospective careers and apprenticeships. Roman had left with an ugly tote bag weighed down by pamphlets, indecision and despair. 

The next day Roman had been dragged into the careers office and made to sit down at the other side of the desk. The room had smelled like sharpened pencils, the kind from primary school, and day old coffee fermenting in the tacky teachers mugs stacked precariously on the windowsill. Cringey motivational posters and old memes were plastered to the walls in an attempt to make the room friendlier, but instead the more Roman noticed, the more he felt like the dusty shrivelled potted plant on the desk.   
He was off to a good start. 

The blonde woman across from him began with the usual questions, grabbing a pair of purple reading glasses from a beaded necklace and perching them on her beak like nose as he answered. 

What subjects do you take? (drama, music, literature)   
What are your predicted grades? (ABB, and wasn’t that a shocker)   
Did he attend careers day? (Yes, and he wished he hadn’t)  
“So” the careers lady began. She hadn’t even introduced herself. 

“Roman.” she paused again peering over her glasses with beady eyes. “Can you tell me what thought you’ve put into your future plans?” She questioned politely, if a bit condescending. Roman could see the way her acrylic nails tapped against the desk, and how that didn’t match the kind, plastic smile on her face.   
God, he hated careers meetings. 

“Well,” Roman has barely uttered before she interrupted again as sharp as her incessantly tapping nails.

“Of course, with grades like yours, you can go to university even if your subjects are more...” She paused there allowing the sentence to drag as she searched for words. “artistically inclined."

She hadn’t even bothered to hide the distain in her voice. Roman didn’t allow himself to feel the sharp sting of ridicule; he had heard worse things from other people, and although such a thing should not be used as a defence, it at least allowed him to quell the outrage building within him.

“Actually I was-"

“You could even pursue a career as a journalist! It says here that you're part of the writing club here at college.” She interrupted again, but Roman spoke over her before she could continue.

“I decided that I want to pursue an acting career. If I go to university, I will be studying a theatre degree.”  
Roman declared, assuredly moving his gaze away from the window to meet her eyes. The patronising but albeit nice smile she had been wearing before had fallen off her face, to be replaced with a bland and disappointed expression.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t want a more stable career?” She questioned, subtly pushing more leaflets across the table. 

“I’m sure.” said Roman, and an awkward silence fell about the room. Standing up, he slung his rucksack over his shoulders and headed for the door, sensing the meeting was over

“Oh, and thanks for the advice.” he couldn’t help saying snidely as he walked away. He would make his own path, even if he had no idea how to do it. He was sure of it. 

Or, welll. He had been sure of it. 

But the seed of doubt had been planted. Was he really making the right decision? Everyone always said that theatre was a waste of time, a hobby and a passion, not a job. There was no point in him making it a waste of money too, if he decided to get a degree in it. But he shook off his concerns and dumped his tote bag full of leaflets in the prop cupboard, hoping it would be swallowed by feather boas and bowler hats. He entered rehearsals for the college show with pep in his step.

Roman didn’t usually play villains, but Mr Billy Flynn was undoubtedly one of the most fun roles he’d ever played. They ran a full rehearsal, with opening night being only a week away, and Roman had celebrated with the rest of the cast when they had a near perfect run through. He had left that night with his doubts gone, humming razzle-dazzle under his breath. 

The next week provided a hectic and harried schedule that only tech week could create. He had bullied Dee into running lines with him, the only other resident theatre nerd in their friend group, and on the full day rehearsal he had hurriedly thrown an essay on the Gothic genre to his literature teacher before stopping off to rehearsals. (It was one of the most rushed essays he had ever written, and most of it was on the topic of sex and death, but against all odds it somehow got full marks. Gift horses and all that.) Before he knew it, it was opening night, and he was backstage choking on hairspray and eavesdropping on the audience. The closing night of the musical arrived in a similar fashion. 

Roman was full of adrenaline when he stepped on stage for his opening number. The lights blinded him as he soaked in the audiences gaze. Nothing made him feel more alive than performing. In the interval, he had spotted his friends in the audience. Patton was excitedly scanning the stage for him, sandwiched between Logan and Virgil, the former looking confused and the latter looking impressed albeit reluctantly. Dee was sat at the end row happily chattering to Roman's twin, Remus, who had actually shown up even though Roman knew how much it pained him to sit still for so long. It was actually kind of sweet.

The second act passed in a blur, and before Roman knew it, he was taking his final bows with a smile so wide it threatened to split his face, not to mention the overwhelming urge to cry happy tears. He didn’t bother changing out of his costume, and simply ran up from the basement (morgue) to be swallowed in a giant group hug by his friends. They congratulated him earnestly, hollering all the way up to town where they slumped in a McDonald’s booth, regaling him with their favourite bits. Roman then filled them in on the managed catastrophes that had occurred backstage. This, this was exactly what he wanted for the rest of his life. He couldn’t be happier. 

That was of course when things began to go wrong. 

He was called into the prop room on Monday after class, as the prop room also doubled as a conference room and all around storage unit. Gwen, his drama teacher, had pulled him aside and shoved him into the office with a kind smile which didn’t put any of Roman’s doubts at bay. Gwen was a terrifying woman after all, even if she didn’t seem it. She was tiny and constantly bantering the class when she worked with them, but she also had the uncanny ability to rip people apart without ever raising her voice.  
It was brutal.   
But hey, it got results. 

Gwen took a seat in a spinny chair and Roman took the other; an old fashioned Victorian style wooden one. Drama really couldn't even afford matching chairs, huh. They sat in a nerve wracking silence for a few horrifying minutes before Gwen broke the news. 

There had been a scout for a renowned theatre company at the closing night of Chicago. They were interested. He had been invited to an audition a week from then. Roman’s wildest dreams had literally been handed to him in a musty old prop cupboard with a plastic flower jabbing into his head. His friends had been ecstatic and Roman had worked all week on his monologue. He had chosen a passage from Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar, and he had yet to have been detached from his heavily annotated copy of the script all week. 

The day of the audition arrived. Roman had been sick with nerves, and tried to disguise the tremors in his hands as he strode across the stage, halting in front of the panel. Engaging in the pleasantries, Roman was soon given the go-ahead and he breathed a sigh of relief easily slipping into his role.

‘But I am a constant as the northern stars...’ 

When Roman had finished he breathed in deeply, sending a hesitant look toward the panel trying to judge their unmoving faces. 

“You are dismissed. The call-back list will be posted on the door later today.” 

Roman nodded, thanking them for their time, before leaving to go and get absolutely hammered; he wasn’t eighteen for nothing. He was sure a glass of wine would calm him down (or maybe even a bottle.) 

The hours passed slowly. Roman waited, and he waited, and he waited some more, and then he listen to Hamiltons’ ‘wait for it’ on loop for a while, and then went back to waiting. It was torture. It seemed he'd waited a millenia away until finally, the call-back list was pinned to the door. There was an immediate rush as a crowd of 20 moved towards the door, but Roman had trailed slowly behind. Half had already turned a way despondent when he got there, one girl crying as she walked away. Those who had found their names on the list looked a mixture of gleeful, smug and nauseous. Roman wondered what category he would fit into.

He scanned the list quickly, then studied it again at a slower rate. And then once more studiously taking on every name. Every name that wasn’t his. 

The crowd had dispersed as roman stood there, apathy and despair both clawing at his veins as he moved towards the bar in a muddled sort of silence. He had no idea how long he had sat there bemoaning that he had thrown away his shot. He knew it was getting late, and that he was probably worrying his friends and parents, but he couldn’t bring himself to tell them the news. He simply sat, sadly swirling his wine as he tried to deal with the keen sting of rejection. 

He was just about to send a text to Remus, hoping his twin would come and pick him up, since there was no way he could have driven after drinking so much, when the theatre doors were pushed open. The old man from the panel walked into the room, ambling to the bar. The greying old man had ordered a whiskey, sipping the amber liquid as he slipped onto the stool next to Roman’s.

Roman knew he should have left, shouldn’t have asked, should have waited for Remus to pick him up outside on the curb. But he hadn’t. 

“Why didn’t I get a call-back?” He asked, abruptly but politely. The director slowly turned to face Roman, giving him an appraising look before seemingly nodding to himself.

“Because lad.” He spoke in a strong gravelly tone. “I have seen a thousand boys like you, and I’m sure I will see a thousand more.” 

Roman felt his heart plummet in his chest as he continued on.

“You’ve come from an underfunded school, small town life with big dreams and you heard on the radio that one day you were gonna be someone. But look around lad.” he paused to take a gulp of his whiskey, regardless of Roman who sat across from him who felt shattered.

“You’re out-classed. Get a real job, it’s time to grow up.” The man finished, slamming down his empty glass of whiskey and walking away, as if hadn’t just taken everything Roman was and torn it in two. As if he hadn’t just sliced the threads of Roman’s very soul, and left him unravelling at the bar with a half empty wine glass and broken dreams. 

That, that exact moment, had been the Fuckening. Roman had tried to hide his despondent mood over the first few days, relying on his usual ego and flair for the dramatics to cover up the hurt he had felt. But slowly, he knew the cracks in his persona were appearing. When he asked Logan about Universities, the other boy had the audacity to look suspicious before giving him a rundown of the options. He had turned down an audition sheet from Patton that the blonde haired excitedly shoved in his face, ignoring the bespectacled boy’s concerns. Virgil, with all the tact of a freight train, had blatantly asked what was wrong with his theatre loving deranged mind when he had enquired about possible literature courses. Roman had brushed it aside as curiosity, but he knew they were all still suspicious. Roman has never shown any doubts before, and seen the cracks must’ve been jarring. They were jarring to him, too.

But Roman couldn’t go to any of his friends for this. Not only did they not understand his love for theatre, they also wouldn’t understand his confusion over his choices. Logan was determined to study chemistry and had already applied to his universities. Virgil was pursuing literature in a combined course with art, and Dee was going to be studying philosophy. Patton was planning to study veterinary, even if he had entertained the thought of being a baker for awhile. Even Remus already had an apprenticeship lined up in experimental physics. His twins lunacy always useful when coming up with ideas. 

Roman didn’t have any of that conviction anymore. All that Roman was left with was a heavy heart and the word failure echoing around his mind, as he reluctantly began taking the careers lady’s advice seriously, even if it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Which brought him to here, slumped across three theatre seats, his head on his arms, glaring at the dismantled set as if it were responsible for his current depression. 

“Fucking pathetic.” He bit out at himself, running a hand through his hair.

“You are a bit.”

Roman jumped when he heard the voice echoing across theatre, banging his leg as he jolted, letting out another (very loud) curse. Virgil snorted from his place backstage, beginning to walk towards Roman. 

“What are you doing here?” Roman questioned mulishly. All he wanted was to brood in silence, and now their resident emo nightmare has come and ruined it. Virgil sighed, as if it physically pained him to be in Romans presence and took a seat on the floor beside the chairs, stretching his legs out in a manner that always struck Roman as feline. 

“I was chosen to come down and see what’s wrong with you. So, here I am, the nice middle ground between Patton’s bleeding heart and Logan’s emotionless robot commentary.” Virgil explained, a slight sardonic smile on his face as he peered up at Roman through his purple bangs. 

“Now, come on Princey, I left a very tense game of Uno in the study area to come and check on you.” Virgil demanded unblinkingly. “We know the audition knocked you down a bit, but come on Sir Sing-a-Lot.” Virgil cajoled trying to get something out of him. Roman turned away, feeling frustration build in him as Virgil continued to comment on his melancholy mood.   
“I just-" Roman snapped before gathering himself, staring studiously at the crumbling brick walls of the theatre. It was always cold in here, but this time, it might just be Roman.

“Just what?” Virgil immediately latched on, shuffling so he could face him directly. Roman would much rather stare at the theatre wall. “Roman, you’ve not even signed up for the spring term show, we know somethings wrong-"

“I’m not good enough!” Roman roared angrily, the words echoing around the empty theatre.

“I’m never going to be good enough.” he repeated quieter, feeling sick to his stomach.

“I might as well give up now.” he choked out, swallowing a lump in his throat as he avoided Virgil’s sharp eyes. The silence settled heavily over the pair for a few moments, as Roman took in some sharp breaths, obstinately ignoring the burning of his eyes.

Virgil suddenly grabbed onto his hands and pulled him to the ground next to him with a heavy thump. Roman didn’t even have the energy to respond to the man-handling. 

“Roman.” Virgil murmured softly but insistently, waiting until Roman looked up and met his eyes. 

“I don’t know who’s told you those things, those lies, but I do know this.” he said and Roman found it hard to break Virgil’s entrapping gaze.

“You’re brilliant Roman, you are brilliant and talented and you are going to make it someday.” said Virgil, with such raw conviction and intensity that Roman even found himself believing it. He wanted to believe his friend so badly.

“You’re gonna be somebody one day Roman. And maybe the rest of the world doesn’t know it yet, but we do. You do.” Virgil said earnestly, still clutching Roman’s hands. 

Roman couldn’t stop the sob that escaped him then, and he didn’t resist as Virgil pulled him into a hug, murmuring reassurances to him on the dusty theatre floor. 

Maybe Roman wasn’t good enough, like the director said. 

But one day he would be.


End file.
